


The Magic of Us (The Wooden Leg Remix)

by Sab



Category: Wizard of Oz series (L. Frank Baum)
Genre: Gen, Remix, remix madness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sab/pseuds/Sab





	The Magic of Us (The Wooden Leg Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Solitary Sorceress of Oz](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14564) by [Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal). 



 

Though she was quite young, her many adventures had given Trot a kind of wisdom beyond her years, along with an insatiable, almost stubborn streak of curiosity.

Her friends, Dorothy and Betsy Bobbin, put up with her incessant questioning, because Trot was so darling and so much fun that they dared never say anything that might offend the youngest member of their group.

So if, for example, the three chose to take the Sawhorse and the Cowardly Lion for a trip to the Winkie forest, they could expect the duration of the journey to include a great deal of figuring, puzzling, guessing, and learning.

"How is it that you are clearly a meat-eating creature," Trot asked the Lion. "And yet you have never once tried to eat me or any of our friends in Oz?"

"Willpower," answered the Lion. "Combined with the fact that, if I were to so much as wound one of my dear friends, I would be so beside myself with misery that my life would cease to have meaning."

Trot nodded, thinking. "Back in Amer'ca I never heard of a meat eating creature that could do that. So that's one thing diff'rent in Oz."

"There are so many things that are different in Oz from the America you and I knew, Trot," Dorothy said. "Magic, and beasts, and riches, and dear sweet Ozma..."

"I don't feel any diff'rent though," Trot went on.

Betsy beside them on the Sawhorse, piped in. "Can't say I do either, since I've been an Ozian. Dorothy?"

Trot waited while Dorothy thought. "Seems to me," she said, finally, "those of us that come from 'cross the Desert don't really change, not our real truly selves, just because we live in Oz. Think of Aunt Em and Uncle Henry? Despite not havin' too much work to do or too little food to eat like the did in Kansas, they still work all day and enjoy it."

"It's like Cap'n Bill's wooden leg," Trot said. Her friends waited for her to expand on her thought. "It's wooden, but it still works just as well as his meat one, 'cause they're both controlled by his brain. The Sawhorse is wooden, and he can move, but it's diff'rent from Cap'n Bill's leg. One's moved by human power and the other by magic."

"So only creatures born or created in Oz have magic?" Betsy seemed dubious. "What about the wizard, then? Or Dorothy and her magic belt, or you and your fairy mark?"

"Those are things," Trot concluded. "Folks who have things what are magic can use that magic, but it's no more a part of them than this Lion is a part of me just 'cause I'm riding him."

Trot could tell that both Betsy and Dorothy were unsure, but she went on. "I must say," Trot said. "It's a bit of a relief, not worrying someday I'm going to wake up with magic powers. I'm not all the way sure I would know how to use 'em."

They rode on in silence a while, stopping occasionally to pick the ripe, silver key fruits that hung off the low trees that lined the path, or to observe a particularly interesting bird or vista.

"Might I add a question?" the Lion asked, eventually. "For I have been listening to you girls talk and I feel I may have something to add to young Trot's debate."

"Of course, good friend," Dorothy said, stroking the Lion's mane. "You may always speak freely when you are with us."

"And that is why I shall never eat, or even taste of any one of you," the Lion rumbled. "For you are my good friends as well. So, dear Trot -- how does this theory of yours explain Glinda the Good?"

The girls were all silent for a moment.

"Well, we know the Wizard was a humbug when he came to Oz," Dorothy said. "And he was taught all his non-humbug magic by Glinda herself."

"My question remains," the Lion said.

"I can 'splain the Wizard, I think. He's got the magic things what can only be found in Oz," Trot said. "Like your belt from the Nome king or the magic dust that brought the Sawhorse to life."

"And Glinda's magic?" the Lion went on, this time with a bit of humor in his tone.

"Gee," Betsy said. "Glinda's been here forever."

"I assumed she was born in Oz, like Ozma," Dorothy said. "So maybe that's why she's magical."

"I suggest we go to the Quadling Country and ask Glinda herself," the Sawhorse said. Though he rarely spoke, when he did it was usually worth listening to.

"Uninvited?" Trot sounded fearful.

"I can't imagine dear Glinda turning us away," Dorothy said, but she didn't sound entirely confident herself.

"Absolutely. Glinda adores you girls," the Lion said, decisively, and the two beasts shouldering three girls took off into the grasslands, toward the Quadling border and Glinda's palace.

Four of Glinda's most beautiful handmaidens were waiting for them when they reached the great palace driveway. The handmaidens took the Sawhorse to be sanded and fitted with more comfortable pegs, while the Lion ambled off on his own to drink from Glinda's clear, cool pond.

The girls made their way up the great marble hall, where more handmaidens, smiling kindly, gave them towels to wipe their hands and travel-stained faces, and then opened the doors to Glinda's receiving room.

The Good Witch, tall, ageless, beautiful, stood before them, smiling.

"Am I correct in assuming young Trot has a question she would like to ask me?" Glinda smiled more broadly. "My Great Book has been telling me of your journey."

"Please pardon our unannounced visit," Dorothy curtseyed. "We know you are very busy with matters of great importance, and it was never our intention to --"

Glinda gestured to a plush sofa. "Sit down, girls. Refreshments have already been prepared and shall be delivered promptly."

It was true, for moments later they were enjoying tiny spiced cakes, honey-soaked fruit and a fine fizzy beverage that tasted of new-mown hay.

"So, my dear Trot. You want to know why it is I can control such powerful magic."

Trot nodded. "Yeah, without... things. Like the Wizard. Or my fairy mark."

"We fig'red because we were born in the Outside World, we nat'rly can't be magical," Dorothy said. "But I can still use the Nome King's belt, and the slippers, and even Ozma's magic mirror if I want to. 'Cause of the Oz magic."

Glinda laughed; a musical, pealing sound. "No, my darling little Dorothy. That is your magic, pure and simple."

Trot furrowed her brow. "That doesn't make sense," she said. "If Dorothy's got magic, how come she couldn't just conjure up enough gold back in Kansas to save her Uncle's farm?"

"It would be fairy gold," Glinda shook her head. "Which is of as much use in a non-fairy country as your American currency would be here."

"And my fairy mark?" Trot asked.

"Your fairy mark is the least of your magic, Trot," Glinda said. "You have the magic of courage and bravery, and the magic of learning and understanding. Those are more powerful magics than, say, the ability to turn a frog to a stone and back again, wouldn't you agree?"

"And me?" Betsy put in, tremulously.

"You have some of the most powerful magic of all, Betsy Bobbin, for yours is the magic of love, and loyalty. Your sworn companionship to our precious Queen Ozma makes you as much a part of Oz royalty as any of the dukes or dutchesses of our fairy land."

They ate their sticky cakes in silence, musing on Glinda's declarations.

"But you can do magic, proper magic," Trot said. "You can look at a thing and know that thing; you can touch a thing and transform it. That's more pow'r'ful than my magic, for certain."

Glinda sighed. "Would you girls be surprised if I were to tell you I was born across the Great Waste, in the outside world, like you?"

The girls' faces made their answers clear.

"I was born in a village called York, in a country called England, many, many years ago. There was a strange old man that employed me from time to time, and he worked as a kind of personal alchemist for the Queen of our nation. Some days he would lock himself in his lab all day and come out with broken, useless contraptions clearly intended for higher purposes, but some days he'd call to me - 'Galinda, help me out!' - for that was my name then - and I would come and pour vials for him or stir large cauldrons of miscellaneous potions."

"Sounds like the Wizard, back when he was a humbug," Trot nodded.

"There were some similarities, yes. Primary of which was that neither man would give up on a project once he had attempted it, and both men were very hard on themselves when they failed."

Glinda sipped her fizzy drink. "This was one of those times," Glinda said. "My master at the Queen's palace had combined a dangerous set of substances, and was terrified he would be the cause of the poisoning of everyone at Windsor Palace. I tried to encourage him to lock up the lab and leave, but he refused, insisting he must fix what he had done."

"And then?" Trot put in, her curiosity clearly too impatient for all this backstory.

"We added something to the substance. I don't know what. A great cloud appeared, forming a kind of portal, and the next thing I knew I was leaping through it... and I ended up here."

"Right here in your very own palace?" Dorothy commented.

"I had no idea whose palace this was," Glinda said. "Later I would learn its history, but that is a story for another time."

"And the magic?" Trot's impatience was in her voice now. "How can you do magic?"

"I had a taste for it, a bit of a gift for sniffing out powers and potions. Not dissimilar from Dorothy's gift for being swept off into adventure, or for your gift, tiny Trot, of solving mysteries." Glinda stroked Trot's hair. Trot furrowed her brow.

"So our magic is really and truly our own?" Trot asked. "No matter where we are or where we're from?"

"I think you'll find, as we all have, that your magic is more powerful in a fairy country, where such magic is commonplace and easily understood." Glinda said.

"If somebody saw me ridin' a Lion back in Kansas they'd lock me up for sure," Dorothy agreed.

"I will tell you what I believe, and then you must go, for Ozma will want you by her side tonight as you promised."

All the girls nodded.

"I think that people like us, people who were born in the outside world but somehow, despite all odds against us, made it to this impossible fairy country we now call home, are just the very people with the magic suited to the Land of Oz. I think we are very, very lucky," Glinda said.

"Me too," said Dorothy. "Now I've got Aunt Em and Unc Henry here I can't imagine goin' back to Kansas, ever!"

"And in order for us to be properly grateful for being allowed to live in this fairy country, it is our obligation to work on our own personal magics, to develop our talents and to use our natural, human powers to the best of our ability and to the benefit of those around us. That, dear girls, is the magic of Oz."

It was a while before they spoke again, except to bid their farewells and hug and kiss Glinda, and then each girl climbed aboard her mount and they set off back towards the Emerald City.

"Our own magic," Trot said, finally. "I like it. I'm going to figure out mine as soon as I get back to confer with Cap'n Bill."

"And I will find mine by anticipating Ozma's needs," Betsy said. "I shall be the best handmaiden ever. Ozian royalty!"

Dorothy was quiet through this. Trot thought she understood.

In all their adventures, Dorothy was the one leading the pack into trouble, or danger, or battle. And each time, be it against the Hammerheads, the Nome King's army, or simply an Oz citizen who refused to act in the best interest of his fellow man, Dorothy emerged victorious.

"I think you're what makes us real," Trot said to Dorothy, just as they were arriving home.

Dorothy simply shrugged. "I'm just Dorothy," she said. "It's always been enough for me."

Trot gave her friend a hug and scurried off to find Cap'n Bill. When she had explained the story to him, he said, "I'm not so sure about these magickal things, but I've seen Glinda do some things no human could possibly 'splain. So if you say you've got magic inside you, tiny Trot, I will put myself at your undying service 'till we find out what it is."

"I need to talk to Glinda," Trot said, finally. Cap'n Bill chuckled.

"You just got back, girl. Why don't we have some supper first, talk with our friends, and just give a little check, 'cause I suspect your magic's been here with you all along and that we'll find it here in the Em'rald City after all."


End file.
